


Five Minutes Of Your Time

by Luna_Hart



Series: Five Minutes Of Your Time [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Fluff and Angst, HYDRA Husbands, M/M, Major Character Injury, One Word Prompts, Original Character Death(s), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Random & Short, Short & Sweet, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-07
Updated: 2018-06-12
Packaged: 2019-05-19 07:24:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14869293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna_Hart/pseuds/Luna_Hart
Summary: Five one-word prompted one-shot stories featuring Brock Rumlow and Jack Rollins: Glance, Whisper, Tie, Sweat, Battlefield





	1. Glance

**Author's Note:**

> I found an online word generator, asked for 5 words, and these were what I got!

The problem with having a career where life is literally flashing before ones eyes on a regular basis is that it builds up a wicked tolerance to adrenaline. Someone can only throw themselves out a plane so many times before the rush just isn’t there anymore. Then they start looking for other outlets to fuel the adrenaline rush. Like McKinnon, who free-soloed cliffs without any gear. Jennings drove in rally races, having been to India three times for the Raid De Himalaya Rally and Blake enjoyed slack-lining over canyons, balanced hundreds of feet in the air often without a safety line. Brock and Jack just found an… alternative outlet.

There wasn’t a supply closet, grounded transport plane, or empty office in the Triskelion they hadn’t done it in.

_And all it took was a glance._

Jack had been alone in the showers after a harsh mission, hands planted against the tile as he allowed the scalding hot water to cascade over his aching shoulders. The echoing bang of the door slamming shut made him start. He glanced behind him only long enough to identify that it was Brock throwing himself down onto the bench. “Fuck,” the older man grumbled as he began to strip off his grimy gear. Jack only grunted in response, reaching for the shampoo. He lathered it into his greasy locks, rinsing away the dried sweat and crusty hair gel. He turned the water off reluctantly and scrubbed his towel roughly through his hair.

A raspy chuckle made him turn, seeing Brock boldly raking his eyes over Jack’s face. “What?” he snapped, roughly drying his chest, not in the mood for whatever Brock found funny about his face today. “Just never seen your hair like that before,” Brock said with a shit-eating grin as he stripped his shirt off, baring a well-defined chest and narrow waist. 

Jack dragged his eyes away from the mouth-watering sight before he started drooling and gave himself away. He’d been very careful to hide his attraction for his CO. Instead, he threw a glance over to the large mirror three stalls over. His hair was damp and shaggy, hanging around his eyes in wavy locks. It was a stark difference from his usual sever style. He snorted, wrapping the towel around his waist.

He had just buttoned his jeans when a harsh hiss of pain and a muttered curse made him turn. Brock still had one boot and his pants on, hunched forward with tension coiled thick across his shoulders. Jack remembered the way Brock had thrown himself out of the moving truck in a barely controlled tumble during the mission. He’d said he was fine, but Jack had noticed the way he’d been doing his best to hide a limp when they disembarked the transport.

“Lemme see,” he said with a sigh, moving to kneel in front of the other man. Brock hesitated, eyes snapping up to Jack’s with a guarded expression. A long glance lingered between the two men before Jack felt the resistance drain from his CO. Jack stifled any reaction to the warm feeling that welled up in his chest. It was a sign of how much Brock trusted him, to allow him to see the man’s weaknesses. 

Jack's fingers nimbly loosening the laces as far as possible. “On three, yah?” Jack said, one hand gripping the heel of the heavy combat boot while the other grasped the toe. Brock nodded, hands gripping the edge of the bench to brace himself. “One,” Jack said deftly before swiftly yanking the boot off. Brock didn’t make a sound but Jack noticed the way he white-knuckled the bench. “Asshole,” he growled, his breath whistling out through his teeth. “Sorry,” Jack said unapologetically as he peeled Brock’s sock off. He hissed in sympathy as he took in the state of Brock’s ankle. It was twice its normal size, the entire foot discoloured to a nasty blue/purple.

“You should go to medical,” Jack murmured as he cupped the injured limb with gently hands. “Fuck medical,” Brock grumbled, his aversion to doctors practically legendary within STRIKE. “It’s not broken.” 

“You sure about that?” Jack said waspishly as he ran his fingers carefully up Brock’s ankle. “You tell me,” Brock snarked back. “You’re the registered medic on squad.” Jack rolled his eyes but continued his examination. “It’s not broken,” he finally said begrudgingly. “Told you,” Brock practically crowed before blanching two shades paler when Jack dropped his foot onto the hard tile. "Oops," Jack stated in a deadpan tone.

“Fucker,” hissed between clenched teeth was the only warning Jack got before he found himself tackled to the cold floor. The tussle was brief, sore and tired muscles protesting the cold and the exertion. It ended soon after with Jack pinning Brock to the ground, faces scant inches apart and both a little breathless. Hazel brown eyes glanced up to bright green and held.

_All it took was a glance._

Something shifted in Brock’s eyes and Jack suddenly became very aware of the various stages of undress they both presently were in. He was in a fucking towel, for Christ’s sake. Hefroze, unsure of what to do, and then Brock just had to get fidgety. He shifted, trying to find purchase on the slippery floor and the top of his thigh pressed up against Jack’s groin. Stars sparked across his vision and he couldn’t stop his breath from hitching in a breathy gasp, hands tightening around Brock’s wrists.

He felt Brock freeze, saw his eyes go wide and Jack choked on the panic that welled up in his throat. He let go of Brock’s wrists like they burned him and pulled back. Or he tried pull back. He suddenly found his arms trapped under Brock’s and froze. 

Slowly, as if Jack was a cornered animal who might attack if startled, Brock brought a hand up to cup the side of his face. Jack felt the man’s thumb brush along the corner of his mouth and he swallowed thickly. Brock shifted again, this time pressing his leg up against Jack with purpose. He gasped and Brock took advantage. He slipped his thumb in-between Jack’s lips, pressing down on his tongue as his fingers curled under the bigger man’s jaw.

Whatever hesitance Jack had been wrestling with snapped and he growled deep in his chest. He swore Brock’s eyes dilated as Jack rasped his teeth along the man’s thumb. Swiftly, Jack yanked them both to their feet before wrapping his arms underneath Brock’s thighs and lifting the smaller man bodily into his arms. Brock would later deny that he squeaked in surprise when it happened. He wrapped his legs around Jack’s hips, his hands gripping Jack's broad shoulders to keep them both balanced. “Fucking caveman, put me down,” Brock growled. Anyone else might have taken the tone as threatening. Jack just smirked and walked him backwards, pinning Brock up against the shower wall.

That’s when he froze, chest to chest with the man he had been secretly pining after for the past four years. His muscles locked and his eyes latched on a small corner of chipped tile behind Brock’s shoulder. All he could feel was the man’s muscular legs wrapped firmly around his hips, hands like branding irons gripping his shoulders, breath hot upon his cheek. Jack felt like he was a heartbeat away from losing his composure. 

“Hey,” a low gravelly voice murmured in his ear. He felt fingers brush gently through his hair and he dragged his eyes over to Brock’s. The look was brief, more of a glance than anything, but it was enough. Calm and grounding, understanding and more than a little hesitant as well. That’s when Jack realized that Brock was just as unsure as he was.

It was all he needed and he lunged forward to latch his lips against Brock’s. The hand tightened in his hair and Jack in turn tightened his arms around Brock’s legs to keep the man from slipping. The kiss was better than anything he had dared to imagine. 

He pulled back, only slightly breathless. Brock smirked, that shit-eating grin of his showing just a hint of teeth as he stretched his arms above his head. “You gonna make me do all the work?” Jack grumbled as he flexed his arms around Brock’s thighs, grinding up against him. “I am the invalid here,” he said pitifully and Jack smirked as he heard the slight shaky quality to the man’s voice. “Lazy fucker,” Jack murmured as he leaned in to capture the other man’s lips once more. That was how it started.

_ And all it took was a glance.  _

A glance over the rest of the squad during Brock’s pre-mission briefings, promising a quickie in a supply closet before mustering out. A smirking glance as they fell into step first thing in the morning, quietly agreeing to exchange handjobs in the locker room between duty shifts. A sidelong glance across the bench seat of the transport plane on the way home from a mission, promising to be gentle with any injuries the other might have sustained. 

A glance up close and personal during sparring, silently agreeing to seek out that cargo plane that had been grounded awaiting repairs. A glance tinged with battle fever and adrenaline during an engagement with the enemy, holding the promise of a later encounter that would leave both of them with bite marks and bruises in the shape of fingerprints.

They played this game for six months. Six months of questioning glances and answering looks. It shouldn't work as smoothly as it was, but it did. Until it didn’t.

 

The day started off like any other, with a glance. Brock fell easily into step with Jack as they strode into the briefing room, a lingering glance sparkling with the promise of seeking out that grounded C-17 cargo plane once they got back stateside.

It was supposed to be a quick and easy bag and tag of a mid-level value target. It turned out to be anything but easy and ended in disaster with the target and a STRIKE agent coming home in bodybags. Hill was waiting for them on the tarmac, eyes hard. In a clipped tone she ordered them to all go home and debrief in the morning, eyes looking at no-one but at their CO. Brock avoided Jack’s eye as he followed behind Hill, jaw set and eyes stormy. Jack, knowing he couldn't do anything more, dragged himself to the showers. 

He stalled for time as the rest of the STRIKE trickled through but Brock didn’t show. Finally, Jack couldn’t justify stalling any longer and grabbed his bag. In a last ditch attempt, Jack swung by the repair bay on his way to the garage. He stuck to the shadows, avoiding the repair crews before slipping up the ramp into the belly of the C-17 cargo carrier. It was dark and shadowy but as he got closer, Jack could just see the outline of a pair of heavy standard issue combat boots propped up against the console panel in the cockpit.

He dropped his pack with a heavy thump to let Brock know he was there before making his way up into the cockpit. Brock stared stonily out the windshield, arms crossed stuffy over his chest as Jack slide into the copilot’s seat. He hadn’t even changed out of his gear, dirt streaked across his chest and down his legs. Dried blood was hard to see against black but Jack knew it was there. " 'Bout time," Brock grumbled. "Been waiting for fucking ever." Jack only had time to grunt in surprise as Brock suddenly straddled him before lips where on his and hands were tugging at his jacket. It was a tight fit. Jack banged his elbow on the bulkhead more than once. Then Brock sliced his leg on a ragged piece of metal.

“Shit,” Jack murmured, pulling away to inspect the damage. Blood beaded through the ragged slit in the dark fabric, smearing against Jack's fingers. “It’s fine,” Brock said, dragging Jack back into the kiss by his collar. “You’re bleeding,” he said, squirming as Brock worked his lips and teeth down the side of his neck. “I’m fine,” Brock snapped as he ground down against Jack. “Brock,” Jack grunted, feeling uncomfortable. This wasn't right. He didn't want to do this. Not like this, with Brock on the edge of spinning out of control. “Wait,” he tried but the other man just tightened a hand in his hair, biting at the base of his neck hard. “Brock, stop,” he said sternly, shoving against the other man’s chest. He felt Brock tense under his hands as he reared back.

“Hey,” he soothed, settling his hands on the other man’s hips. “I said I’m fine,” Brock said stiffly, staring out over Jack’s shoulder as he brace himself with a hand on the headrest. “I believe you,” Jack said even though he didn't. “Look, it's nasty in here—,"

"Never stopped you before," Brock interrupted, eyes narrowing in suspicion. Jack sighed, tracing his thumb along the edge of the man's belt. "Look, it's been a tough day," Jack tried, noting the way the man's jaw muscles had begun to twitch and his eyes had grown hard. "We're both tired. Let’s just go back to mine. I’ll order food, you can get cleaned up—.”

 “For fucks sake,” Brock growled before he disappeared from Jack’s lap. Jack just stared as Brock chuckled bitterly under his breath, hands planted on his hips. “What are you doing, Jack?” he said accusingly. He glanced over at the younger man, eyes looking over-bright in the shadows. “We have a good thing going here. Don’t ruin it with sentimental bullshit."

"I just thought—," Jack tried but Brock rode right over him. "You thought what? That this was more than just a convenient lay? Come on, Jack. You're not that stupid.” Jack snapped his mouth shut with a click. To his credit, Brock blanched, as if just realizing what words had come out of his mouth.

“Jack, I…,” Brock began, swallowing thickly. “No, you’re right,” Jack said, getting up and not for the first time using his superior height to his advantage. “It was stupid of me to be concerned about you, considering the day we just had.” Brock seemed to shrink into himself as Jack loomed over him, keeping his face impassive and stiff. “Stupid to think that after all this time, we might also be friends and not just convenient fuck buddies,” he snarled softly, causing Brock to flinch. He waited, but Brock didn’t say anything else so Jack turned on his heel and left him standing in the empty cargo plane. 

 

 

It was late. Jack was sprawled out on his couch, nursing a generous serving of tequila and listening to the rain. A harsh knock at the door pulled him from his stupor. He got up with a heavy sigh and crossed to the door. His hand strayed towards the glock strapped to the underside of the hall table on habit as he checked the peephole. He swallowed thickly, taking a steadying breath, before opening the door. 

Brock leaned against the doorframe, hands tucked into his jeans and head hanging low. His hair and jacket were soaked. Water dripped from the ends of his hair and soaked into the collar of his shirt. “It's not a _convenient_ time,” Jack sneered, feeling slightly smug when Brock flinched at his words. He contemplated just closing the door in the man’s face but then Brock looked up and everything changed. 

_ All it took was a glance.  _

It was a true glance, Brock’s eyes briefly meeting Jack’s before flicking away but that was enough. Jack felt his chest tighten at the hollow, gut wrenching guilt he saw reflected there. That and the tension that radiated from the other man’s entire body man made up Jack’s mind. “Come on,” he said with a sigh, stepping aside and opening the door further. Brock hesitated but then finally stepped inside, carefully toeing off his soaked boots onto the mat.  “You want something to drink?” Jack threw over his shoulder as he crossed into the kitchen, leaving Brock to catch up. When he didn’t get a reply, Jack turned to find the older man standing at the end of the hallway looking lost. His eyes were downcast and he was chewing on his bottom lip like he did when he was anxious.

“I’m an ass,” Brock mumbled. “Yah think?” Jack replied, crossing his arms over his chest. The shorter man flushed, a pink tinge creeping up his neck and staining his ears. “I just…,” Brock fumbled, licking his lips nervously. “I fucked up,” he admitted softly. “I fucked up with you, I fucked up on the mission, I—,” 

“Hey,” Jack interrupted, taking a step forward. “What happened to Klein was not your fault.” Brock flinched for the second time at Jack's words, shaking his head in denial. “You listen to me,” Jack said sharply, closing the distance and grasping Brock by the chin. “It wasn’t your fault.” He felt Brock swallow, his throat rolling against Jack’s palm. “He was on my team,” Brock said softly, eyes over-bright and sad. “I made the calls. I got him killed.” 

“Bullshit,” Jack said sharply. “You’re the reason any of us made it home.” Brock’s lips twisted into something nasty as he jerked back from Jack’s touch. “I brought him home in a bodybag,” he said bitterly. “Stop,” Jack said, his chest feeling tight as he grabbed Brock by the biceps. “Just stop.”

Brock still wasn’t looking at him so on impulse, Jack pulled him into a tight embrace, uncaring of the man’s soggy state. He felt Brock tense under his arms, but slowly he began to relax. Finally the tension just bled out of the smaller man and Jack felt Brock wrap his arms around his waist. “You can’t do this to yourself,” Jack murmured into Brock’s damp hair. “You know you can’t. You did everything you could.”

He barely heard the "Wasn't enough," that was mumbled into his collarbone but decided to let it go for now. There'd be plenty of time come morning to deal with Brock's guilt and self-hatred. For now, he just held him tight and didn’t let go until Brock started to fidget and pull away. The man scrubbed a hand over his face with a harsh sniff. His face was dry if his eyes were a little red rimmed. “Sorry,” he murmured, fingers brushing across the damp stains across the front of Jack’s sweater.    “ ’s fine,” the taller man murmured in reply. He hesitated and then reached up and brushed Brock’s damp locks back off his forehead with gentle fingers. Brock’s eyes snapped up to his.

_ All it took was a glance.  _

 

 

The sun was just beginning to peak through the curtains, throwing warm shafts of light across the bedroom. Jack woke slowly, almost leisurely. He blinked, yawned, and then moved to roll over. A heavy weight across his stomach stopped him. Jack glanced over, memories of the night before flooding back as his eyes landed on a head of thick, dark hair and a tanned, muscular back. 

He scratched his nails lightly along the curve of the man’s shoulder, prompting an unintelligible mumble. Jack chuckled softly as he slipped out from under the man’s arm and stumbled into the bathroom. Brock wasn’t in bed when he returned and he followed the soft sounds of movement into the kitchen. He couldn’t help but watch as the older man busied himself with the coffee maker, a pair of Jack’s sweats slung low on his hips. It was a sight that, if Jack was being completely honest, he'd daydreamed about more than once.

As if sensing his presence, Brock threw a glance over his shoulder. A small smile tugged at his lips, a smile that reached his eyes and made Jack’s chest feel warm. A smile that he couldn’t help but echo. He had a feeling that this was going to be the beginning of something different. 

_And all it took was a glance._

 

 


	2. Whisper

A whisper of displaced air was all the warning he had before an arm wrapped around his throat and something white hot slipped between his ribs, into the small space between his vest and armpit. His cry was choked and wet-sounding. Movement blurred in his peripheral and as he felt his chin being tipped up he knew his attacker’s next move would be to slit his throat. He managed to get his hand up just in time, fingers closing around the sharp blade. Blood dripped between his fingers as the metal sliced down to the bone but he didn’t dare let go. 

Suddenly the weight against his back jerked and fell away, the arm around his neck sliding off limply. He swayed and dropped, knees cracking heavily on the uneven ground. He crumpled, rolling onto his back as he tried to remember what it felt like to breath normally. He couldn’t remember anymore. Each breath pulled wetly in his chest and he knew the blade had punctured his lung. He idly wondered if this is what fish felt like out of water.

He stared up at the sky, bright blue and hot as wispy clouds chased each other across the sun. He stared until dark spots danced in front of his eyes and he was reminded of his mother scolding him as a child for staring into the sun. _“You’ll go blind, is that what you want?”_ she’d threaten, shaking a stern finger in his face. He supposed it didn’t matter anymore. 

A frantic voice was calling his name and a face swam into view. Dark hair soaked with sweat and other people's blood, warm hazel eyes brimming with panic, gloved hands scrabbling at the front of his tac vest.  He was so tired already. The hot breeze didn’t do anything to cool the heat radiating from his brow. His fingers twitched weakly as hands found the wound, pulling back completely sleeved with red. Like a child let loose in a paint store. 

“Fuck,” a voice rough from yelling over gunfire rasped above him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Just hang in there for me, okay?” the voice murmured in a breathy, frantic tone. He didn’t listen as the voice barked orders into his comms, demanding backup and evac for an agent down. He already knew it was too late.  “It’s okay,” he tried to say even but something bubbled up in his throat, choking him. He coughed weakly and felt something wet trickle down his chin. The other man’s eyes widen in panic and he shouted more orders into his comms, looking around frantically for help. 

“It’s okay,” he murmured.  “No, fuck that. You’re not going anywhere,” the man snapped, shaking his head. _Stubborn, always so stubborn_ , he thought fondly as he found himself getting lost in dark hazel eyes. “You hear me? You stay with me. _You stay with me, dammit!_ ” 

He smiled gently, reaching a hand up to brush his fingertips across the other man’s lips. He was going to miss those lips. There must have been a shift in his eyes because the other man redoubled his efforts to staunch the flow of red from the wound. “No! No, don’t you do this. Don't you dare leave me.” Tears welled up in his lover’s eyes and his hands began to shake, just a little. 

“Please,” the man whimpered. “Please, please, please. I can’t do this by myself.”  Tears dripped from the man’s face and splashed into the dusty ground. Salt mingling with iron. “Yes you can,” he insisted, moving his hand to cup the other man’s cheek, feeling rough stubble underneath his fingers. “You're a survivor. You’ll be fine.” The other man was crying freely now. He leaned down, pressing their foreheads together as he fought to not make a sound. Their noses brushed gently. He felt the man's tears drip onto his face, could feel his entire body begin to shake.

“I don’t want to,” his lover confessed, breath hitching. Under any other circumstances the words would have sounded pitiful and childish but not here. Not now. He took a breath and dissolved into a weak coughing fit as his lungs tried to expel the fluid inside them. The other man sat back, soothing him with gentle words and hands until he was calmer. Breathing was like inhaling hot coals, like breathing syrup. His lungs weren’t cooperating anymore. He was running out of time. He took a moment just to look at the man he loved, burning the memory of him into his last coherent moments.

“I’ll wait for you,” he said softly.  The dark haired man who he had fallen head over heels for the minute he saw him squeezed his eyes shut with a little shake of his head. “And if you come in any state other than old and grey,” he continued, somehow managing a stern tone even as his vision began to darken around the edges. “I’ll kick your ass.” 

He watched as the man managed a breathy little laugh even as more tears leaked from his eyes. He found himself smiling even as his hand slipped from the man’s cheek. It had grown too heavy for him to hold up anymore. He found his hand snatched up, fingers interlacing through fingers, as his hand was pressed against the front of a hard tac vest. Right above the heart he knew belonged to him even as his own belonged to the man kneeling over him.

He choked, a little whine escaping through his lips before he could stop it. His chest was tight but it didn’t exactly hurt. Nothing really hurt anymore. Everything just felt numb now. He felt his damp hair brushed back from his face. Gentle fingers scratched along his scalp, soothing. “You’re good, you’re okay,” a soothing mantra murmured above him. “It’s okay. I know you’re tired. It's okay.” Those last words were said in a choked tone, as if the man had to force them passed clenched jaw muscles. He felt his eyes grow heavy and he forced them open again. He had one last thing he needed to say.

“Promise me,” he said softly. “Promise you won’t do anything stupid. And that you won’t be sad for too long.” His biggest regret was that he wouldn’t be there to kick the man’s ass when he needed it. The hand wrapped around his tightened and the fingers in his hair moved to cup his cheek. “I promise,” the man said, swallowing thickly. “Good,” he murmured, feeling a little bit more at peace. “That’s good.”

His eyes fluttered and he felt more than heard the man choked sob. He tried to focus on the man’s face but everything was fuzzy. There was a roaring rush in his ears a sound not unlike chopper blades. A hot white light bloomed behind his lover’s head, creating a halo effect around his spiky dark hair. It was beautiful but blindingly bright. Like staring into the sun....

“I love you,” was the last thing he heard, whispered oh so softly as lips brushed gently against his.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry. Lemme know who you think is who. I definitely wrote it with someone in mind for each but would like to hear how you read it. (I did add two little hints) xx


	3. Tie

“Fuck!” 

Brock couldn’t help but chuckle at the explosive exclamation that cracked sharply through the apartment before dissolving back into unhappy grumblings. He finished tying the stupidly short laces on his black dress shoes before sauntering into the bedroom. 

He found Jack standing in front of the bathroom mirror, face murderous as he wrestled with the bright teal bowtie around his neck. A tutorial was open on his phone, propped up by a can of shaving cream. Brock leaned against the doorjamb, eyes sparkling with barely contained glee as he watched Jack rip the thing from around his neck with another curse. 

His eyes caught Brock’s in the mirror and he made a face. “A picture would last longer,” he snapped waspishly. Brock's smirk pulled into a full blown grin. “We’re going to be late,” he teased. Sometimes he just couldn’t help but poke the bear. Jack huffed sharply, fingers clenching around the offending piece of fabric. “Yah, well, it wasn’t my idea to make us all wear fucking bowties,” he snarled, viciously restarting the tutorial with so much force Brock was surprised the screen didn’t crack. 

“How the fuck does yours look so good?” he grumbled, glaring at Brock's reflection. “Church every Sunday from ages five to thirteen,” Brock said, stepping up beside the big man to fuss with his perfectly immaculate bowtie. “Gran was partial to the bowtie." He frowned, moving on to a stubborn lock of hair that had decided to rebel against its coifed style. “And besides," he added in a taunting tone, throwing a sidelong glance at the other man. "Not all of us were raised by wolves."

Jack said something unflattering under his breath as he attempted yet again to tie the offending piece of fabric. Brock watched Jack wrestle with it for another minute before finally taking pity on him. “Gimme that," he sighed, snatching the fabric out of Jack's hands. "Fucking painful. At this rate we’ll miss the ceremony all together and then Sharon will hamstring us both.” He smoothed out the wrinkles out as he stepped behind Jack. “You mind?” he said, making a face. He could feel Jack roll his eyes but he widened his stance, dropping down a few inches to allow Brock easier access to his neck. “Should get you a footstool,” Jack teased as Brock slide the tie around the other man's neck with practised ease. “Ha ha,” Brock replied dryly, scowling harshly at Jack through the mirror.

"I moved the coffee grinder to the bottom shelf. Didn't want you straining a calf muscle, standing on your toes like that every morning," Jack murmured, arching back against Brock like an overgrown cat, pressing his shoulder blades into Brock's chest. "Quit yapping and hold still, will yah?" Brock snapped, flicking his fingers sharply across Jack's ear. He could see the younger man's lips twitch in the mirror's reflection but he stayed quiet. Brock had a sinking feeling that the man wasn't done with his little joke just yet. “Okay, let's go,” he said, finishing off the bowtie and giving Jack's ass a sharp slap before stalking out of the bathroom.

“I still can’t believe Cap’s tying the knot,” he exclaimed as they made their way across the parking garage, the present of his and her matching tactical knifes tucked safely under his arm. “Well, he is from the forties,” Jack muttered as he finished buttoning his vest. “He's pretty old fashioned with that stuff.”  Brock hummed in distracted agreement as his eyes roved appreciatively over the other man’s body. Sharon had insisted that everyone in the wedding party have their clothes tailored and Jack’s suit fit him like a glove. The shirt was just tight enough to show off the man’s strong shoulders and well-defined biceps without looking too small, the vest fitting snugly across his broad chest. He already couldn't wait to peel the man out of it. A knowing chuckle made Brock jump and he glanced up into bright green eyes that sparked with mischief and more than a little lust. He blushed, which only caused Jack to chuckle more. 

“You need a leg up?” Jack asked innocently as they reached Brock's absolutely massive truck. “Or maybe a booster seat?” The glare Brock levied at him could have melted through steal and stopped the heart of a lesser man. As it was, Jack just looked back at him through the cab of the truck with that little lopsided smirk that Brock had learned to distrust on sight.  “Shut up and get in the fucking truck,” he snapped as he hoisted himself up behind the wheel.


	4. Sweat

Sweat dripped stingingly into gritty eyes and Jack pulled away from the rifle scope long enough to scrub the back of his hand across his face to clear them. Brock lay sprawled out next to him, a rangefinder glued to his right eye as they lay on their bellies atop a scrub covered hill. Suddenly dust began to cloud on the horizon.

“Target on approach, two klicks out,” Brock murmured softly beside him. Jack adjusted the rifle butt more securely against his shoulder. He slowed his breath and in turn his heartbeat, letting his body relax and go completely still. Minutes later, a dirty truck banged up the road. “Fifty meters,” he heard Brock mutter next to his ear. The truck began to slow, coming to a stop right on target next to the decoy IED STRIKE had planted in the middle of the road. The back window rolled slowly down, a man in dark sunglasses poking his head out. He was yelling, mouth moving silently as he banged on the side of the truck in agitation.

“On target, twelve o’clock,” Jack said calmly. “Range is nine hundred and fifty two meters off,” Brock rattled off smartly, taking the readings from his scope. “Nine fifty two,” Jack parroted back, so comfortable with this dance that he could do it in his sleep. “Fire when ready,” Brock said as he had hundreds of times before. Jack let the air slowly empty from his lungs, waited for the moment between heartbeats, and squeezed the trigger.

The rifle kicked heavily back into his shoulder, the metal connected hard against muscle and made his whole shoulder vibrate. Red exploded in the air, painting the sand. Bodies swarmed out of the vehicle like ants. “Target down,” Jack said calmly, rising his head just enough to turn to Brock. “STRIKE, pull back. Rendezvous at the evac point,” Brock ordered calmly into the comms. Jack shimmied backwards until he was sliding down the hill. He had already collapsed his rifle by the time Brock’s boots hit ground next to him.

“Nice one,” the other man said, clapping a hand on Jack’s shoulder that made a small cloud of dust rise into the air. Jack grinned, showing sharp teeth.

  
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Brock felt sweat drip down his back and make his shirt stick to his skin as he carefully circled around his opponent. The batons were making his hands slippery. Jack looked like he’d just stepped out of a shower, sweat soaking his hair and dripping down his neck in rivulets. Pools of sweat dotted the mats, making hazards for a carless fighter not watching his feet.

This is what happened when STRIKE decided to not cancel their sparring session even though the buildings air-conditioning unit had decided to go on the fritz. In August. Everyone was red-faced and headachy, no amount of water and gatorade seeming to help.

Brock feigned to the left and then broke right, sticks a blur as he drove the taller man back across the mats. He had decided to play nice today, considering everyones grumpy moods due to the muggy heat, and allowed them to train with the wooden batons instead of the regular ones that delivered a sharp electric shock whenever they connected with flesh.

Both men were already sporting bruises and Jack’s lip was split. They were starting to lag, shoulders slumping and movements becoming slow and sloppy. Finally, Brock had had enough. He just wanted this fight to be over so he maneuvered Jack until he had him right where he wanted him and left himself purposefully open.

Brock hadn’t forgotten about the sweat puddles that had pooled on the mat but Jack had. As the younger man lunged forward, his foot stepped in the pooled moisture and went skidding out from under him. He wavered off balance and that was what Brock needed. He snuck a reverse grip hit up and under the man’s guard, striking him on the jaw hard enough to stun but not to cause permanent damage. Jack grunted, tipping even more off balance. Brock used that momentum against him, sending the bigger STRIKE agent flying up and over his hip. Jack landed hard on the mats, air rushing from lungs in a harsh cough. Within a breath, Brock had him pinned, a baton pressed against his throat.

Jack just grinned up at him, his sharp smirk looking extra feral with fresh blood staining his teeth. “Nice one,” he panted. Brock smirked in return, blinking sweat from his eyes as he helped the younger man to his feet.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the read! Only one more chapter left for Jack/Brock. The next one is probably my favourite idea of the bunch so hopefully you enjoy it! Feedback is my fairy dust! xx


	5. Battlefield

“Holy fuck.”

The apartment looked like a god damn battlefield. Brock and Jack stood side by side, silently surveying the damage. Furniture was overturned and at least two of the dining chairs were broken. Red stains splattered across the couch, the floor, even the fucking ceiling. That was going to be a bitch to clean. Brock was already tallying the painting and plaster costs to fix the massive dent in the wall by the front door. He could just see it if he craned his neck out.

There was broken glass scattered about the living room and kitchen alike. The glass top of the coffee table was cracked, a spiderweb pattered racing across the surface from one corner. More glass lay in messy heaps around the two picture frames that had shattered where they fell. One of the lamp fixtures that hung above the breakfast bar had been pulled from its moorings. It hung haphazardly, bits of plaster scattered on the counter below it. There was a faint burning smell that lingered in the air, accompanied by the familiar odour of gun oil. Said oil bottle lay just to the left, its lid nowhere to be seen and its acidic contents pooled and stained across the grey rug. 

“Holy fuck,” Brock said again. 

“Yah,” was Jack’s only response as he began to carefully pick his way around the worst of the glass. “Stay there. I’ll get your shoes,” he ordered as he made his way slowly towards the door. He returned shortly, tossing Brock his boots before bending and pulling a shard of glass from his foot. Blood beaded around the wound and Jack carelessly wiped it away before stuffing his feet into his own boots. Together they crossed further into the living room, glass crunching under foot. 

Brock looked across at Jack, taking in the younger man who was currently toeing at the mess of books that had been swept from the shelves. Bruises scattered across his abs and neck, red welts decorating his shoulders and upper back. A splash of dried blood split his lower lip and Brock could just see the hint of more bruises peaking out from under the band of his sweatpants. Brock knew he didn’t look much better. His cheek throbbed, his wrists ached and he could already feel the patchwork of bruises beginning to bloom up his thighs, hips, and back. He watched as Jack turned in a slow circle, taking in the damage. The man’s eyes turned skyward and then rolled back in his skull. 

“How the fuck did you manage to get red wine on the ceiling?” Jack accused.

Brock flushed, unwilling to take the fall for all the abuse the apartment had suffered at their hands the night before. “Yeah well, whose fault is it that there is gun oil all over the carpet?” Brock snapped back crossly. “I liked that carpet.” Jack snorted rudely. “I distinctly remember you throwing that bottle at my face because you were too impatient to find the lube,” he accused. Brock flushed. He had forgotten about that part. “Okay, well…,” he fumbled, feeling the blush creep up his ears as Jack smirked. “It’s definitely not my fault that we now have a massive hole in the hallway wall.” 

“I think you’ll find that hole is distinctly Brock sized,” Jack pointed out as he bent to lean a fallen painting up against the bookshelf, causing a cascade of glass to fall from the ruined frame. “Because you picked me up and shoved me into the wall like a goddamn barbarian!” Brock snapped. “You bit my lip hard enough to bleed, what did you expect was gonna happen?” Jack huffed tersely even as his eyes sparkled with mischief. “Well, I’m not the one who almost burned the building down because they forgot the leftovers in the oven,” Brock grumbled, glaring up at Jack as the man’s smirk grew wider. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” Jack said, drawing out the vowels as he placed his hands on Brock’s hips. Brock reached back and grabbed what at one point had been a smoke detector but now was an unrecognizable tangle of plastic and wires. “You owe me a new one,” Brock drawled, struggling only a little as Jack pulled him closer. “Do I now?” Jack murmured as he bent down to mouth at the bite marks bruising along Brock’s collarbone. “Y-Yes,” Brock stuttered, hating the effect this infuriating man had over him. Really, it was downright embarrassing the way his knees just turned to jelly the second Jack began nibbling at his neck. 

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the lamp,” Brock huffed, trying to keep his composure and not shiver as Jack worked his way along his jawline, teeth rasping just right. Jack said nothing as he ground up against Brock, swallowing his gasp with a open mouthed kiss. He kissed Brock breathless for a long while, hands greedy, before Brock felt pain explode across his bottom lip. 

“Ow! Fuck!” Brock exclaimed, jerking back and cuffing the taller man upside the head. “That hurt, you ass,” he grumbled, tasting iron. Jack just smirked dangerously before leaning close to growl in Brock’s ear, his hands tightening on Brock’s hipbones. 

“And don’t think I’ve forgotten about the bite marks," he growled softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the read! Stay tuned for the next installation of the series. The next one will be Winterbones!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed the first of five! Feedback is my fairydust! I'm planning on doing this for a bunch of pairings so if you have any suggestions for couples, let me know! Thanks for reading! xx


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